Third Debt (Indebted #4)(73)

Kes clutched his brother’s hand, squeezing it hard. Jethro wiped a hand over his mouth as if he could prevent any more monstrous things from escaping.

Kes’s voice was strained and sharp. “Do you consent, Nila Weaver? Answer the question.”

I never looked away from Jethro. I was the queen on this carpet chessboard. I was the most powerful player in the entire long-winded game, yet my king had just ended the game with one colossal mistake.

Tearing myself from Daniel’s arms, I moved forward to stand in the centre of Hawks. With my shoulders proud and body vibrating, I nodded.

One single nod.

Yes.

Yes, I’ll pay your sick and twisted debt, but I will never be the same. I will never be so soft and stupid. I will never let love convince me of goodness in others. I will be hatred personified, and I will f*cking slaughter every single one of you when you’re done.

“That’s it, then.” Jethro swayed to the poker table. He moved like a soldier who’d been shot in battle—a warrior about to die. Snatching the lid off the cognac bottle, he angled the liquor and drank. His powerful throat contracted, guzzling fast, before he tore it away, slammed it down, and stormed to the exit.

In a moment, he was gone.

What?!

He wasn’t even going to be there to watch? To have his heart torn out witnessing the awfulness he’d befallen?

My tears dried up in complete shock.

I shut down.

Everything inside turned to ruins.

Kestrel sighed heavily. Silently, he retrieved the bottle Jethro had slammed on the table and poured three fingers into fresh glasses.

Daniel and Cut drifted forward as Kes held out each goblet. The men ignored me—knowing I would wait. That I couldn’t run. That I had nothing left.

With a grim smile, Kes held up a toast. “To paying debts and being worthy.”

“To debts,” Cut muttered.

“To f*cking,” Daniel cackled.

All three clinked and slammed the liquor down. However, Kes was the last to drink. It was only a fraction of a second, but he watched Cut and Daniel finish first before tipping the amber liquid down his throat.

Tossing their empties on the poker table, the men once again pinned their attention on me.

I stiffened, fighting uselessly in my binds.

Kes was the first to move.

He came forward. I moved backward. We danced slowly around the large room.

He didn’t say a thing.

He didn’t have to.

Jethro wasn’t in control of this debt. He wasn’t even here.

This was Kestrel’s time to shine.

“Before you came here tonight, Nila, we had a bet. The opening round of poker was to secure the right for first choice.”

I bumped into a padded chair, changing directory to inch around the pool table.

Kes murmured, “Any idea who won that round?”

My heart thundered. I shook my head.

Something flashed in Kes’s eyes—too fast and swift to be understood. “It was me. I won. I get to choose.”

Charging forward, he caught me effortlessly and wrapped his bulky arms around me. In his embrace, I didn’t find friendship or liberation. I found a prison cell where the man who’d laughed and chased me over the paddocks on horseback became my rapist.

Breathing into my ear, he whispered, “I get to choose. And I want to go first.”





I COULDN’T FUCKING do it.

I couldn’t watch.

I couldn’t hear.

I f*cking refused.

The entire time we’d played poker, Cut had watched me. He knew what this would do to me. He knew how I would struggle and cripple and potentially unmask myself completely.

He’d come to the game with the same gun he’d threatened me with two months ago—hooked into his waistband, glinting off the chandeliers—nonchalantly promising death if I disobeyed.

It’d been f*cking torture waiting for the time to creep closer, but it’d been nothing compared to leaving Nila with my family.

I hated leaving. But I had no choice.

Discussing what would happen was one thing.

Watching it come to pass was entirely f*cking another.

My skin itched. My heart burst. My thoughts were a turbid wreck.

I need help.

I couldn’t live with myself knowing what would happen to Nila.

You could overdose.

Take a handful of pills and slide into a coma, so I would never have to face the consequences of what this debt would do.

I fisted my hair and kicked the wall.

The small act of violence simmered some of my rage.

I kicked it again.

The pain I used to seek before swallowing tablets flared into being.

I kicked for the third time.

Throbbing agony graced my toes. It calmed me. Helped me focus on the bigger picture, rather than the next few hours.

Finding a certain peace in my fury, I went rogue.

I let down my walls and turned into a beast.

Whirling around, I embraced every inch of my anger—the parts I’d always suffered, the parts I’d barely acknowledged—all of it.

I showed my true insanity.

Nila was right.

I suffered a madness.

And she’d doomed me forever with no cure.

She f*cking hates me.

“Shit!” I stalked down the hall and plucked a music box that’d been my great-great aunt’s from a side table. Hurling it onto the floor, I felt a sick satisfaction as springs bounced free and twangs of music serenaded with broken notes.